


accidentally in love

by valleyofthewind



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, T for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 23:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyofthewind/pseuds/valleyofthewind
Summary: mingyu goes to a café every morning and always orders the most obscure drinks cause he has the gay hots for the barista working there





	accidentally in love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarantism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarantism/gifts).



> s...so...so i finally did it. i caved in wrote a fuckign self-indulgent coffee shop au which is 99% dialogue i hit that point in my ao3 career
> 
> dedicated to [tarantism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarantism) my favourite fellow gyuhao lover and appreciator

The very moment he steps into Bread and Butter, he's met with a ray of light. It's like he has to look away before he's blinded.

“Welcome t–” the boy starts, in a cheerful way, before stopping himself and adjusting his glasses. “Oh, it's you.” He glances down at his watch. “Obviously.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Mingyu says, almost spluttering, reaching to flatten the hair at the back of his head.

“You've been here every morning at quarter past seven for like, half a month,” he says, running a hand through his gorgeous dark hair, looking fully at Mingyu. His fucking deep, dark, mysterious eyes are dancing against his skin in the morning light pouring through the window. “You also make these like, obscure orders. You think I wouldn't notice?”

Mingyu loses the ability to speak.

“Well,” he says, adding a laugh at the end awkwardly. “Change is good, right?”

BD rolls his heavenly eyes. _Heavenly._ He _seriously_ just thought that. “Anyway, what can I get for you today?”

“Your name,” Mingyu blurts out.

“Sorry, that's not on the menu,” he says.

“Neither was the strawberry mint latte with almond milk but you still made it,” Mingyu says, whinging slightly. “How long am I going to have to call you 'Barista-Dude' in my head?”

“It's not my fault your nicknames suck. And only _two weeks_ have gone,” BD says, exasperated tone in his voice. Then he repeats himself slowly, “What can I get for you?”

Mingyu grins. “ _La patience est amère, mais son fruit est doux._ ” BD raises his eyebrows. He continues, “Iced green tea, no syrup and a splash of cold soy milk. With chocolate chips for good measure.”

“That'll be 2800 won,” BD replies. His voice doesn't show any hints of hesitation or amusement or _anything_ really. The dullness should probably annoy him, but it only leaves Mingyu even more interested.

Mingyu rummages around his bag to find his wallet. “You know what you should get here?”

He stares at Mingyu. “More employees so that I don't have to deal with you every morning?”

“Rude.” Mingyu pouts. “No, okay, I think you should get name tags.”

BD places the change in his palm, along with the receipt, and Mingyu _swears_ there this unexplainable electric connection between the two of them. “Any more genius ideas or can I make your very unnecessarily specific order now?”

“I'm _full_ of them.”

“Me too, actually,” he replies, walking away from the counter to start preparing Mingyu's drink. “Here's one: stop bugging me and start drinking normal coffee.”

Mingyu says, with another pout, “That's two.”

They're quiet for the next minutes.

BD slides the mug towards him. “Here.”

Mingyu takes it and successfully manages to thank him without stuttering, then sits down on one of the stools. He takes his laptop out and starts working on an English essay, but keeps getting distracted whenever new customers enter and BD lights up and shines brighter than the café's artificial lighting; his slim face, his wide, alert eyes and lips and other features, his thin but muscular arms and jaw (which looks like it was sculptured by fucking Aphrodite herself) moving as he works the devices and talks flippantly to the clientele.

Half past seven is the time it usually gets busier; customers on their way to work filing in one by one, buying caffeinated drinks in take-away cups and grabbing yoghurts with müsli tops or bagels before leaving.

The morning rush simmers down at eight. This is Mingyu's favourite part of his mornings at Bread and Butter. He can peacefully work on whatever he needs to do, or just sit there and appreciate the serenity. And it's the perfect time to sneak glances at BD going to the back to wash dishes or cleaning tables.

He usually has to leave at quarter to nine, sometimes lingering a little longer to attempt conversation, before having to run down the street to his – extremely conveniently located – college, gliding into his seat just as his nine o'clock lecture starts. Topped with Seungcheol tutting and Seungkwan looking at him curiously. It's almost like a routine already.

This morning, just as Mingyu is packing his shit into his bag as quickly as he can, shooting BD a last look, he's shocked to see that he's already looking in his direction. “It's–” he pauses, shuffling on the spot. “It's Xu Minghao. My name.”

Mingyu reckons his face has semblance to the Cheshire cat, a sudden smile stretching from ear to ear. “I'm Kim Mingyu.”

“Okay,” Minghao ( _he has a_ name) says. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“Okay,” Mingyu says. “Quarter past seven?”

 

 

The next morning, Mingyu comes prepared. “ _Xu_ 're the one for me,” he says.

Minghao snorts. “Awful. One out of ten.”

“You laughed!” Mingyu protests, grinning.

“ _Xu_ isn't even pronounced like that, idiot.”

“Are you sure you're meant to be going around calling loyal customers idiots? That's going on the _Yelp_ review.”

Minghao laughs a little before he stops himself, instantaneously fixing his eyes to the ground with a frown. Those few, valuable seconds were music to Mingyu's ears. He swears that Minghao's laugh could've made dead plants grow back to life or the moon fall out of its orbit or singlehandedly clear up thunderstorm and he notes to himself that he has to make Minghao do it more often. He was fucking _put on earth_ to make Xu Minghao laugh. That's legimately his entire purpose in life. “What would you like today?”

“Black tea with soy milk instead of water and two pumps of vanilla,” Mingyu says. “Do raspberries on the side cost extra?”

“No, but you could just get a raspberry tart instead?” Minghao says, shrugging.

Mingyu considers it. “Is that free, too? I'm on a budget here.”

“Yet you still order the most complex drinks to exist,” Minghao mutters. “ _No_ , Mr. Cheapskate, it'll be 2100 won.”

Mr. Cheapskate is probably the worst nickname he has ever received. And that says a lot considering his contact name on Seungcheol's phone.

Still. A _nickname_.

“Not even for a–”

“Don't even try it.”

Mingyu shrugs, still beaming widely. “It was worth a _shot_.”

Minghao tries to conceal his giggles by acting like he's suddenly extremely interested in fishing out Mingyu's change from the cash register. “You're _terrible_.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Mingyu grins. “I just have a latte on my mind right now.”

“Oh my God,” Minghao says, all exasperation with an underlying gentle expression.

“You'll grow to love these puns eventually, Minghao, just espresso your true feelings.”

Minghao throws a packet of brown sugar at him.

 

 

“I think I'll have a _pain au chocolat_ with that triple-shot, mint, fat-free cappuccino too,” Mingyu says one day.

Minghao mock gasps. “What happened to the budget?”

“I think I can scrape together 3000 won, seeing as pretty much all my money already goes to Bread and Butter.”

“I've been meaning to ask something, but I don't want to sound rude,” Minghao says.

Mingyu kind of gulps. “Hit me.”

“Where _do_ you get the money to buy breakfast here every morning?” Minghao is properly looking at him, and it makes his stomach flip. “I just– I mean, it would be ironic if you worked at another café and ate breakfast here every morning.”

Mingyu shrivels up and dies on the spot. “Uh.”

“No, sorry, that was random,” Minghao says, sheepishly.

Mingyu shrugs. “It's fine, seeing as I ask about your personal life all the time. You're going to laugh if I tell you, though.”

Minghao raises a single eyebrow, looking as angelic as ever even though Mingyu knows he has to wake up at half past five every morning. He'd practically fallen out off his chair when he found out. “I _highly_ doubt it.”

“Promise?”

“Are you eight?” Minghao rolls his eyes. “I promise.”

“Pinkie promise with cherries on top?”

“I'm not going to fucking _pinkie promi_ –”

Mingyu ignores him and links their pinkies together, a static of electricity shooting down his whole body as their fingers touch softy. It seeps through his veins, streams into his soul; fills his body and he looks at Minghao whose cheeks are suddenly flushing this deep shade of pink and Mingyu has never witnessed something as beautiful as this before, so he decides to trust him.

“Fine, _fine,_ fine _._ I work part-time at the Burger King in the shopping centre about a block away,” Mingyu says. “Um, afternoon shifts.”

He glances up at Mingyu again. His face now wears some type of perplexed expression and Mingyu can't help but think about how he looks _so_ cute when he's confused or showing anything which isn't just a perfunctory, polite smile aimed towards other customers. “Why would I laugh? You're in the same situation as me. You know, just a student trying to make some extra cash.” He pauses briefly, before bursting into a smile. Mingyu practically _drools_.

“Wait, you're laughing,” he says, accusingly pointing his finger at Minghao. “We _pinkie promised,_ you _traitor_.”

Minghao's gasping for air, then, and Mingyu feels his own face turn some sort of crimson colour, feeling embarrassed and put on the spot. He reaches to the back of his head and flattens the hair there, licking his suddenly-dry lips.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Minghao says, regaining himself. “I'm– I just imagined you wearing one of those– those _outfits_.”

Mingyu cracks a grin at this, and he's about to protest that the BK uniforms are actually quite comfortable, but another customer opens the door and the chime indicating exactly that fills the tranquil quietness of the room. Minghao quickly straightens his glasses and puts on his usual poker face.

Mingyu realises that he hasn't even paid yet.

 

 

Bread and Butter is Mingyu's heaven.

It's small, cosy, homely, and Xu Minghao works there.

The café's ochre walls are covered in photographs and frames with embroidered quotes and flowers. There are limited with seating places, only four, squashed sofas with tables and chairs placed in opposite corners, and tall stools lined up on a row by the counter. Tulips and roses and other plants and flowers bursting with various colours fill the small space. The whole room is filled with the scent of life, caffeine and fresh pastries.

If Bread and Butter is heaven – Burger King is _hell_. His living nightmare is being crammed into limited space with other sweaty, broke, tired teenagers, all running on minimum wage and energy drinks. Customers are aggressive, bored, occasionally rude, but Mingyu tries his best to keep his humour up. For the sake of everyone else. They say his cheerfulness is a kind of anomaly. They say it's what keep them going, even though Mingyu wants to throw a conniption and slam his head against the cash register whenever a mother complains about their food making her child sick, or some argues that extra sauces should be free.

Visiting Bread and Butter is almost like an escape from the hell that is working at a fast-food restaurant.

Which is why Mingyu decides to share this with his friends.

“Let's get this straight,” Seungcheol says. “You're basically on the brink of being late _every morning_ because you have some secret boyfriend and have a hot, steamy rendezvous with at, like, crazy o'clock in the morning?”

Mingyu snaps, “He's not my _boyfriend_.”

“Yet,” Jisoo says.

Mingyu chokes on his udon noodles. “Yeah, debatable.”

“Our little Gyu is all grown up,” Seungcheol says, fake sniffling.

“I'm taller than you, piss off,” Mingyu says.

“By, like, three centimetres,” Seungcheol says. “Plus, I'm older than you.”

Jisoo interrupts them, “Listen, I'm happy for you, Gyu.” Mingyu smiles at him. “Who is this mystery barista?”

Mingyu groans. “Okay, please, shut the fuck up, you two.”

“ _Tell us_ ,” Seungcheol says. “Go on, Mingyu, don't be a dick.”

“I came to eat lunch, not to be interrogated by the fucking Spanish inquisition,” Mingyu says.

“Tell you what?” Seungkwan asks, slipping onto the seat next to him, joined by Hansol and Chan. One could say the Galleria's food court is kind of their territory. Like, natural habitat. It's cheap, the food is okay, and since it's always so loud – air filled with loads of different types of food and the constant loud noises and customer's mindless chatters – they can talk freely about anything.

“Not _more_ people here to bully me.”

Seungcheol smirks. “Tiny baby Gyu has a secret boyfriend.”

“He's _not_ my _boyfriend,_ and I'm _not_ tiny, either,” Mingyu hisses, sending Seungcheol a quick glare.

“You _what_?” Seungkwan exclaims. Hansol remains as phlegmatic as usual. “Why didn't you tell us?”

“I mean, it was kind of obvious.”

Everyone's heads turned to Chan, who was staring at his Nintendo 3DS, small smile visible on his face. “How did _you_ know?” Seungcheol says, sounding suspicious. “He didn't tell you first, did he?”

Chan heaves a sigh. Chan, he's melodramatic like that. “No, but haven't you realised that he's practically glowing with happiness nowadays? He has obviously met someone – or something.” He flushes when he realises that everyone's attention is still on him. “Um.”

Mingyu's heart swells with love. “Chan, you always know me the best.”

Seungkwan says, huffing, “I _also_ realised. I mean, anyone can see it.”

Hansol raises a single eyebrow. “Seungkwan, you were cooking up theories about how you think he has a secret dog he takes walks with in the morning.”

Seungkwan folds his arms. “That could, technically, be true.”

“Why would he have a secret dog?”

“ _Obviously,_ Hansol, he got an adorable puppy and didn’t want to share its cuteness with us,” Seungkwan says. “He could be working for the FBI, for all we know.”

“ _Oooooh_ ,” Seungcheol says, nodding, sipping his aloe vera juice thoughtfully. “You're thinking like a _21 Jump Street_ theme here? Love it.”

They high five each other.

“I'm _right here_ ,” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes. “And he's not even my boyfriend, God. We've barely known each other a month.”

“So?” Jisoo asks. “Seungcheol asked me out after a day.”

“I couldn't resist your beauty, baby,” Seungcheol says, a tad bit too dramatically. He tilts forward and fires Jisoo's cheeks with soft, rapid kisses.

Seungkwan jokingly covers Chan's eyes. They have this long running joke where they all baby Chan even though he's turning 19. Obviously, he hates it. But they all find it pretty entertaining still.

Chan shakes his hands off quickly, frowning. “I'm about to catch a hammerhead shark in Animal Crossing, don't you fucking _dare_ sabotage this for me.”

Jisoo rolls his eyes, pushing his boyfriend away. Seungcheol leans back with a moue of discontent reappearing on his face, and drinks his juice again. “Anyway,” he continues. “If you like the guy, just go for it. What's the worst that can happen?”

“Personally, I can think of a bunch of things,” Hansol pipes up. Seungkwan shoots him this look.

“The worst that can happen is that you die, and that seems uncalled for _as hell_. Unless he's actually a criminal trying to get closer to you so that he can rob your house, kill you and then make it a well planned locked room murder so that the police thinks it's suicide until a smart detective trapped in young boy's body and his loyal friends and girlfriend from when he was 17 and her useless alcoholic father come along because they happened to be in that area and figure out who the culprit is by only looking at a small mark in the wall and the way your fingers are placed and he then starts to beg for mercy and curses them because his plan was perfect and nothing should've gone wrong.”

They stare at him.

“Well, that wasn't at all awfully specific,” Jisoo says.

“Love the crime show concept you have going on,” Seungcheol says. They high five again.

“He binge watched Detective Conan this weekend,” Hansol says. “The first 50 episodes out of like, 800.”

Mingyu looks at his friends. “I mean, guys, it's awful.” He pauses. “He makes me start spouting _Jean-Jacques Rousseau quotes_.”

Seungcheol visibly winces. “Shit, you have it bad.”

Seungkwan looks at Mingyu, eyes brimming with pity. “Darling,” he says. “You barely have a D in French.”

“And that's not even the worst part,” Mingyu says, groaning. “He makes me say coffee puns and makes me think all these lame things and it's like, fucking my brain up.”

“ _Language_ ,” Hansol says, gesturing towards Chan with a grin.

Chan flips him the bird.

Seungkwan pulls his feet up on his chair and strokes imaginary facial hair. “Oh, God, here he goes again,” Hansol mumbles.

“ _Hmmmm_ ,” Seungkwan says.

“ _'Hmmmm'–_ ” Mingyu air-quotes, “–indeed.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, slinging his free arm around Jisoo's shoulders. “Get over yourself and ask the guy out. Jisoo's right.”

“I felt confident before you agreed with me,” Jisoo says. Then upon seeing Seungcheol's expression, “I mean, love you.”

Seungcheol pouts. “That's more like it.”

“Easier said than done,” Mingyu complains, finishing off the last of his noodles. “Besides, you two are practically both models. It's not _as easy_ for some of us.”

“Gyu,” Jisoo says. “You know we all love you very much and anybody would be happy to have you.” He leans over the table to flick Mingyu's forehead. “And you're handsome as fuck, too, so shut up with that talk about yourself.”

Seungcheol grins. “Okay, I second that.”

Jisoo continues, “Even though your coffee puns are most likely shit and you quote dead French people even though you almost failed French within the first year of learning it.” 

Seungkwan giggles. “Oh yeah, oh yeah, he was like _'gee m'appelle'_ and Mrs. Miell looked ready to _slaughter him._ ”

Mingyu says, “That's rich coming from you, Kwan.”

Seungkwan says, “What've _I_ done?”

Hansol turns to him and says, “Seungkwan, literally yesterday you asked me if the colour orange or the fruit came first.”

Seungcheol, Jisoo and Mingyu laugh at them.

“Okay, Mingyu,” Hansol says, then, abruptly stopping himself from cracking up at Seungkwan's irritated expression. “Instead of thinking about what could potentially go wrong, think about what could potentially go well, you feel?”

“Deep,” Seungcheol says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Good point, though.”

Mingyu thinks about Minghao's dulcet laugh, his face, his sturdy yet thin build, his composed, astute personality filled with humour and sarcasm – much like Mingyu's, but at the same time not really. He thinks about Minghao's long skeletal hands, his soft, full, plump lips, and his glowing, radiating skin.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I'll think about that.”

He thinks about it the next morning, too, standing in front of Xu Minghao.

“Good morning,” Mingyu says.

He goes for an even more amiable tone than usual.

Minghao doesn't even seem to notice.

“Hi,” he simply says, hands on his hips. Mingyu can't help but stare at him. “What's your incredibly abstruse order for today?” _That_ suddenly, at eighteen past seven on a Tuesday morning, makes him even more attractive. Mingyu's never met anyone who uses words like _abstruse_ casually in sentences. Apart from like, his English literature professor.

“Just a caffè latte,” Mingyu says. He watches Minghao raise an eyebrow, but he doesn't question it. “But, I'd still like something else extra.”

“What happened to your budget?” Minghao says, laughing a little.

“It's not on the menu,” Mingyu says.

Minghao looks at him, properly, with an amused facial expression, and suddenly Mingyu heart is fucking deciding to fail on him and beat twice as fast as it usually does. “Okay, tell me this isn't going to be the most cliché thing I've heard in my 20 years of living?”

“Your number,” Mingyu says, grinning widely, spitting it out before he could even give himself a chance to hesitate or regret anything. “I want your number. I _would like_ your number.”

“Let me think about it.” Minghao says. “Hold up, I'm done.” He smirks. “ _No_.” He hits Mingyu's nose with a plastic spoon.

Mingyu smiles. “You'll love me someday.”

“Wanna bet?” Minghao says, leaning forward over the counter slightly.

Mingyu's brain soaks up his face, studying all the details of the man in front of him, every inch of skin and bone; breathing in his scent ( _Head and Shoulders_ shampoo), gathering information and storing it into his long-term memory. He even feels his cheeks heating up under Minghao's gaze.

 _You're like, really close to each other right now_ , his brain supplies.

Mingyu gulps. “Okay.”

Minghao smiles. “Okay, then.”

And he tears his eyes away quickly before he can embarrass himself further.

 

 

After almost two months of Mingyu being a regular at Bread and Butter and never having the same order twice, there were no longer any awkward silences between the two of them.

They're always filled with mindless chatter, listless conversations of them spouting random trivia or just getting to know each other, playful teasing, and, the occasional silence. But they're comfortable silences – with Minghao humming to himself whilst cleaning the tables, Mingyu tapping away at his laptop.

“What do you even do every morning on your computer?” Minghao asks eventually. “Because whenever I look over I see some Wikipedia page up about an alchemist, Twitter or pictures of Oscar Isaac.”

Mingyu chokes on his asparagus and mushroom quiche. “Okay, you weren't meant to see that.”

Minghao kind of smirks. That's something he does a lot recently; showing Mingyu more of his mischievous side. Mingyu's not complaining. “You never get any actual work done, do you?” He puts his hands on his hips and looked straight into his Mingyu's eyes, his eyes boring into his forehead.

“Let's just say there are several things that, um, distract me,” Mingyu says.

Minghao smiles. “I like Oscar Isaac, too. And chemistry.”

“Yeah, I'm not surprised.”

“Was it the periodic table jokes or the glasses that gave it away?”

Mingyu shrugs. “Both.”

Minghao says, “Want some hot Carbon-Holmium-Cobalt-Lanthanum-Tellurium?”

Mingyu says, “I don't know what the hell you just said, but is it free?”

Minghao laughs at this, and Mingyu's heart melts down to the floor. No, _honestly_. It crumples to dust or ash or sawdust, even. Minghao bends over, taking a ballpoint pen out of his apron pocket. He writes 'CHoCoLaTe: Carbon-Holmium-Cobalt-Lanthanum-Tellurium' on Mingyu's napkin in neat handwriting.

“Oh,” Mingyu says. “The penny is slowly dropping.”

Minghao looks extremely proud of himself. “And, no, Mingyu, the hot chocolate will be 3500 won.”

He winks as he says this, and Mingyu solemnly accepts the fact that he is truly and utterly _fucked._

 

 

He keeps the napkin and puts it under his phone case as a lucky charm.

 

 

“Can I have some Calcium-Fluorine-Iron-Iodine-Neon?”

Minghao's quiet for a few seconds. “CaFFeINe. Very smart.”

“I couldn't find a way to say 'your number' in element abbreviations, so I guess I had to make do.”

Mingyu swears he can see the tips of Minghao's ears redden.

 

 

“That boy _will_ be the death of me,” Mingyu declares.

Chan sighs. “I know.”

“What if I ask him out and he's _straight_?” Mingyu groans, tugging at his hair. “Wait, he _did_ say he likes Oscar Isaac, too. Does that mean like as in a 'I like his acting and personality' way or like, as in 'I think he's attractive as hell and I'd bang him in a heartbeat'? Is it too intrusive to ask someone straight up, or not _straight_ up, what their sexuality is? Yeah, okay, don't answer, that _is_ rude. And embarrassing.” He thinks to himself. “God, what if he already has a partner? That would be _so_ awkward. Chan, what do I do?”

“My eyes glazed over five minutes ago,” Chan says.

“Sorry, Chan,” Mingyu says. “For having to put up with this shit.”

“I don't really care.” Chan shrugs. “As long as you're happy.”

“Chan,” Mingyu cries, pulling him into a soft embrace. “You're my favourite person in the world. Ever.”

“Don't let Seungkwan hear that,” Chan says.

Mingyu hugs him tighter. “I'm sorry for not saying it as often as I do.”

Chan pushes him away with no real force. “We're in public, Gyu.” Then he looks up at Mingyu all seriously. “Okay, do you _really_ like this guy?”

“He's the most beautiful person who has ever served me a double-shot half-caff caramel macchiato with a dusting of cinnamon,” Mingyu says, no traces of hesitation. “But I can't just, well, say that. I just get all weird, and I don't think properly, and my brain sort of short-circuits.”

“Maybe you just used up all your words ordering that fucking drink,” Chan suggests. “Listen, can you ask someone else for advice? I'm not good at these things. Maybe someone who actually _knows_ who this person is?”

Mingyu thinks about it. And then it hits him. The answer's right in front of him. Quite literally, since they're only a few metres away from Bread and Butter. “You're a genius.”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” he says. Then he gasps loudly.

“ _What?_ Is he here? Does my hair look like shit?” Mingyu says, frantically flattening the hair at the back of his head.

“No. But, for the record, your hair always looks godawful.” Chan laughs at him. “It's just– the Happy Room Academy gave me _less_ than 2000 points in Animal Crossing.”

“That's nice and all, but I have to go,” Mingyu says. “His friend's shift ends in about–” he checks his phone's front screen, “–twenty minutes, and I'm on a mission.”

Chan coughs. It sounds suspiciously alike _'fucking stalker'_.

They say their goodbyes, and Mingyu practically slams open the door to Bread and Butter. He inhales the scent of caffeine and floral, before diverting his gaze and turning to stare straight at the boy stood there, who's humming happily and wiping the countertop.

The barista smiles. “Welcome!” He has thick, black hair which is shaved at the sides and back, showing off his array of glittering ear piercings. He has tanned, clear skin, with thin winged eyeliner and a happy expression.

Mingyu skips the preamble, walking forward and saying, “D'you know Xu Minghao?”

Piercings looked surprised at first, then he laughs. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

 _Is he taking the piss?_ “What?” Mingyu says, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Piercings' dark eyes twinkle. “Are you– are you– What was it?” He looks concentrated for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Wait, yeah, Mingyu? That's it, right?”

Mingyu just looks at him.

“I'm Kwon Soonyoung,” Soonyoung says. “Minghao's my best friend.”

“Best friend?” Mingyu repeats, almost spluttering a little as he does so. Envy seeps into his veins, but he quickly gets a grip of himself. _It's his fucking best friend, tosser._ “I– um.”

Soonyoung chuckles. “He talks a lot about you.”

“He _talks_ about me?” Mingyu echoes. “About _me._ ”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Soonyoung confirms, nodding. “He specifically told me that if someone named Kim Mingyu came in and asked for his number to blatantly refuse even if he begged.”

Mingyu feels his nowadays non-existent heart dropping to his knees. “ _Oh._ Okay, I get it.”

Soonyoung studies his face. “It's nothing personal – Hao just doesn't know a lot about these things.” He leans forward slightly. “I think he likes you, though,” he adds, whispering, glancing around almost as if Minghao were there.

Mingyu could've detonated on the spot. “Could you like, possibly, uh, you know–”

Soonyoung looks at him again, shrugging helplessly. “Hao'd kill me.”

“It's fine,” Mingyu says.

“No, _no_ , really,” Soonyoung says. “Tell him. Just _tell_ him. He'd like that a lot, I think.”

“D'you reckon?” Mingyu asks. He glances down at Soonyoung, a small smile finding its way onto his face.

“Definitely.” Soonyoung nods. “He may not look or act it, but Minghao, he's actually this huge hopeless romantic. Cries watching _Love Actually_ and _The Notebook_ and all those type of films _._ You know, the whole lot.”

Mingyu snorts. “I knew it.”

“He's the biggest sap ever,” Soonyoung says. “Do something really cliché.”

“I can do cliché,” Mingyu says, a little bit too eagerly.

“He also loves Miyazaki films,” Soonyoung says, before clamping his hand over his mouth. “You haven't heard any of this from me. I've already said too much.” He says this almost _too_ melodramatically, putting on a thick American accent. “You must go, solider.”

“Yes, sir!” Mingyu salutes him, and they both grin at each other.

Mingyu starts walking away, almost _skipping_ with exuberance, before Soonyoung calls out to him. “One more thing,” he says, dead seriously. Mingyu stops in his tracks. “If you hurt my best friend, or even fucking _think_ about doing it, I'll find you,” Soonyoung says, and he says it so calmly that it's almost like he's not fucking threatening Mingyu there and then, “and that'll be the _last goddamned time_ you ever visit this place again. Minghao deserves nothing less of the best. Is this clear?”

Soonyoung's easily ten centimetres shorter than him, but Mingyu looks at his face and there's not a single trace of amusement left. Mingyu gulps. “Crystal.”

Then Soonyoung smiles again. “We'll get along perfectly.”

Mingyu leaves with a nervous goodbye, tripping through the doorframe. He has to break into a quick run as he realises that his shift at Burger King starts in five minutes.

 

 

“So,” Mingyu says.

Minghao looks over at him. “So.”

“I met Soonyoung yesterday.”

Minghao stops wiping the tables. “Really? What did you talk about?”

Mingyu recalls their conversation and simply shrugs with a, “Um, stuff.”

“'Stuff'?” Minghao raises a single eyebrow. “Like?”

He takes a large bite out of his sour cranberry scone, chewing silently and slowly to avoid answering. “You know.”

“Mingyu,” Minghao says, and Mingyu's mind _short-circuits._

“Minghao.”

Minghao sighs. “Fine.”

He smiles. “Hey, Minghao?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna– meet up sometime?”

“'Meet up'?” Minghao laughs. “We meet like, every morning.”

“I mean like, you know, meet _meet_.”

“No idea what you're on about.”

“Minghao,” Mingyu whinges. “Don't make me have to say it.”

“Mingyu,” Minghao says again, and it makes every particle in Mingyu's body jump the exact way they did the first time he said it. “Make you say what, exactly?”

“Do you want to, like–” Mingyu takes a deep breath, “–go on a _date_?”

“Depends.” Minghao grins at him. “What would we, theoretically speaking, do on this _date_?”

 _Shit. Fuck, shit, fucking shit._ Mingyu starts panicking internally. _I haven't even prepared anything, goddamn it, Xu Minghao, you annoying, beautiful son of a bitch. Okay, Mingyu, brainstorm. Think. Cinema? Hold hands? Candle lit dinner on the beach by the sunset? No, okay,_ fuck _that idea, way too expensive. It's winter and I highly doubt there are any beaches within a 20-mile radius–_

“Mingyu?” Minghao snaps him out of it.

“I don't know,” he replies, flattening the hair at the back of his head. “I didn't get that far in my planning.” _Oh, God, this is awkward. I'm too awkward. I'm the one_ making _it awkward. What am I fucking doing? Why aren't I more like Seungcheol? Shit, I'd even go for Seungkwan's personality right now. What would they have done?_

Minghao though, only starts to laugh again. “Planning?”

“We could go get milkshakes,” Mingyu says, in the spur of the moment, remembering what Soonyoung had said about Minghao supposedly loving clichés.

Minghao snorts. “What is this? Sandy Olsson and Danny Zuko in 1959?”

Mingyu kind of stares at him. _G_ _uess Soonyoung was right._ “You're the one I want, you are the one I want,” he sings, jokingly.

Minghao pushes his glasses up. “It goes 'you're the one _that_ I want' first.”

Mingyu stares at him even harder.

“Milkshakes sounds great,” Minghao says.

“You,” Mingyu says, incredulously. “You really _are_ one of those 80s rom-com fans.”

“First of all,” Minghao starts, “ _Grease_ came out in 1978. I'm also not little, we're almost the same height, and what do you mean by ' _you really_ _are'_? How would _you_ know what I like roma– hypothetically speaking liked romantic comedies?” He narrows his eyes. “What did you and Soonyoung _actually_ talk about?”

Mingyu shrugs. “I told you already. Stuff.”

“'Stuff'?” Minghao echoes.

“You know.” Mingyu waves his hands around. “Things.”

“Things. Okay, you talked about things.” Minghao has a sceptical look rested on his face. “And did any of these so-called _'things'_ ,” he air-quotes _,_ “happen to be me?”

“Maybe,” Mingyu says. “Maybe not. That is the question.”

“Jesus Christ,” Minghao says, shaking his head. “Fine. Let's do it. Let's get the fucking milkshakes. Which day?”

 

 

“Which is how Kim Mingyu scored a date with the most beautiful man alive,” Mingyu says.

“Please don't ever talk in third person again,” Seungcheol says. “And that's debatable, if he's into _you._ ”

“Shut it,” Jisoo says. “Mingyu, _I'm_ happy for you.”

“Thanks, Jisoo,” Mingyu says, glaring at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol put his hands up. “Just joking, Gyu, of course I'm glad that you finally got together with him. Means we don't have to put up with your pining and soppiness.”

They're eating lunch at the Galleria's food court again, Mingyu filling them in on all the details of the morning's events. “I am not _soppy_ ,” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes, and he sees the looks on their faces. “I'm _not,_ what the fuck.”

“You're not what?” Seungkwan asks, slipping onto the seat next to his, joined by Hansol and Chan. A wave of déjà vu overcomes Mingyu.

“Our tiny baby Gyu finally got himself a date,” Seungcheol says.

“I'm not ti– okay, you know what? Never mind.”

“Mingyu?” Seungkwan gasps. “Why didn't you say anything?”

“I only asked him out this morning,” Mingyu says.

Chan smiles at this. A smile which is supposedly meant to go unnoticed, but Mingyu notices it, and it makes him break into an even larger grin.

“I would've never have been able do it without y–” he starts. Everyone looks at him. “Myself. Your tips were shit and I managed it on my own.” Mingyu blushes, grabbing his glass of water and chugging it down quickly.

“That was _not_ what you were going to say,” Seungcheol says. “Admit that we're the best, asshole.”

“Whatever,” Mingyu says.

 

 

That fated early afternoon in January is the first time Mingyu sees him out of his uniform and apron and, dear God, is he _beautiful_. He's wearing these auburn, scruffy boots, skinny jeans and a thick knitted jumper. His bomber jacket is a coal black, and it's shining nicely even though there's grey clouds covering the sun and the street's lighting isn't exactly perfect. He looks like he just walked off a model runway. Mingyu's mouth drops. Honestly. It _drops._

“You'll catch flies in there, Mingyu,” Minghao says, gently taking his jaw and closing it shut, smiling up at him in a teasing way, and Mingyu thinks that if he hasn't already died from embarrassment this is the way he fucking _goes_.

Mingyu says, “Uh.”

Minghao continues, “So this is the part where you tell me I look good.”

Mingyu swallows, then says, “You look good.”

Minghao says, “I was just kidding, you know.”

Mingyu says, “But you do look good.”

Minghao says, “Oh.” He pauses. “Thanks. I mean– yeah, thanks.”

They walk into Benson's and sit down by the booth they're shown to.

Minghao orders a banana milkshake. Mingyu orders a chocolate one.

“Isn't the whole point that we're meant to like, share one?” Minghao asks, and Mingyu is about 87 percent sure that he's teasing him; the trademark smirk he's sending Mingyu giving it away.

“No way am I even coming _close_ to a fucking banana milkshake,” Mingyu says, ignoring the heat bubbling up inside of him and streaming out of his blood and bone marrow to coil around his skin. “Disgusting.”

In the time that they sit at Benson's for two hours drinking separate milkshakes, they talk about everything there is to talk about.

“High school was bullshit,” Mingyu's saying now. “I mean, they used to make up rumours about people and it was always about the weirdest things. Like, this guy lost his virginity and he used olive oil as lube.” Minghao laughs at this. “Who the fuck cares if he slathered his dick in olive oil?”

“You must be the only person I know who could ever say that,” Minghao says. “'Slathered his dick in olive oil'. _Wow_. Poetic.” His eyes are kind of twinkling.

Mingyu snorts. “Poetic?”

“Who even uses the fucking word 'slathered'?” Minghao says. “You do. Of course you do.” He stares at Mingyu seriously, and then bursts into laughter and says, “ _Slathered._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“No one says  _slathered_.”

“I do!”

“Yeah, but you're an English major.”

“I know, Minghao, you don't have to keep reminding me,” Mingyu says, but he smiles as he says so. “What do you even do?” He pauses. Minghao's still grinning widely. “At uni, I mean. I can't believe I haven't asked that yet.”

Minghao suddenly has this grave face. “I'm a high school dropout.”

Mingyu stares at him. And he must look impeccably serious or awkward or angry, because Minghao takes one look at him bursts out laughing again. “Oh my God, Mingyu, no, I'm a music theory major at SCU. Calm down.”

“Whatever,” Mingyu says.

He can't help but think about how Minghao's laugh is one of the most beautiful sounds ever, and how he's always thought so, even though – when he thinks about it – it's weird and and unpredictable and high-pitched and sounds forced even if it's not. “Your _face._ ”

“Whatever,” Mingyu repeats. “Music theory major?”

“Yeah, like I'm gonna teach children about intervals and notes or become a band director or something lame,” Minghao says.

“That's not lame,” Mingyu says, studying Minghao's face.

“A little lame,” Minghao says.

“But it's a good thing, teaching.”

Minghao suddenly starts giggling again, “But, Mingyu, okay, you're an English major, and you just used the word 'slathered'. Like, seriously.”

“Are you drunk?” Mingyu asks. “What'd they put in these milkshakes?”

“I don't know,” Minghao says. “I don't know why I'm laughing.”

“I'm funny?” Mingyu questions, and he feels a wide grin growing on his face as Minghao snaps himself out of it and stares at Mingyu in silence for a few heartbeats. “Okay, uh, no.” Then he has this sudden boost of confidence and says, “So, you like me?”

Minghao starts spluttering instantly. _“When did I– Like y_ – _Where_ _did_ _that even come from, Mingyu– Okay, that was just fucking uncalled f–”_

Mingyu shrugs. “Isn't this meant to be _Grease_? Like, what would Danny Zuko do?”

“Be a sexist wanker,” Minghao says, and when Mingyu studies his face he realises that Minghao is blushing.

 _Really._ His face is an unmistakable, evident, apparent, ostentatious _red._

Mingyu says, “ _Oh_.”

Minghao says, “Shut u–”

“So you really like m–”

“Mingyu, shut up right no–”

“You _like_ me–”

“Oh my God, _shut the fuck up_ –”

“You're blushi–”

“I am serious Mingy–”

Minghao, cheeks, ears and neck flushing an incredible sanguine, leans over, puts his hands over Mingyu's mouth, and squeals at him for a few more seconds as Mingyu laughs and tries to pry his fingers away.

When he finally manages to do so, Mingyu says, heart beating out of chest, “Do we go outside and make out in the rain now?”

Minghao groans and covers his face with his hands. “It's not even raining, idiot.”

“But since we're confessing things,” Mingyu starts, playing with the straw in his now-empty milkshake, “I do kind of want to kiss you.” He feels every particle in his body weep as Minghao takes his hands away from his face and looks at him. “It doesn't even have to be raining.”

“'Kind of'?” Minghao says, and he cracks a grin.

“I'm hardly Ryan Gosling,” Mingyu says, flattening the hair at the back of his head. 

“You'll do for now,” Minghao says.

Mingyu debates on paying for both their milkshakes, but Minghao reminds him of his budget, so they split the bill.

As they're walking outside, Mingyu starts singing, voice low and over-exaggerated, “ _I got chills, they're multiplying, and I'm losing control_ –”

“You're _awful_ ,” Minghao says.

Then he leans up, cups his cheeks, and kisses Mingyu. Right there on the pavement outside of Benson's in five degrees celsius weather. Mingyu pulls him closer to him by the waist, and then smiles into the kiss as he takes Minghao and dips him down, easily managing to bend his back; like the _V-J Day in Times Square_ photograph. Minghao, unsurprisingly, lets him do so.

“You taste like banana milkshake,” Mingyu says. “Gross.”

Minghao chuckles and says, “How romantic.” He then makes a big deal out of hooping his arms around Mingyu's neck and kissing him again, excruciatingly slowly.

“My favourite part of that song is when he just goes, _'my erection!'_.”

“She literally sings  _direction_ , do you _ever_ shut up?”

“You can shut me up anytime, baby.”

“I hate you, I hate yo–”

“So I better shape up, 'cause you need a man?”

“–te you, I hate you, I hate you, I h–”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Can I have something not on the menu?” Mingyu asks with a joking tone, five years later as they're standing in their apartment's kitchen together on a lazy, dull Sunday morning. Minghao is drinking coffee (just plain black) and now looking over at Mingyu, rolling his eyes, a soft smile placed distinctly on his lips.

Minghao says, “Sure, go on.”

Mingyu says, “Your surname.”

Minghao says, tiredly, “You what?” and directs his attention back to Mingyu to look at him weirdly, before realising that he's gotten down on one knee.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> OH MMGYG GOD this is quite literally the worst thing i've ever written and i threw up at myself for the ending forgive me
> 
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/greeneryrains) where i don't ever talk about my fics but i do bang on a lot about kwon soonyoung it's a good time
> 
> P.S. i now have the entire summer holiday ahead of me and i'll have legit nothing to do so if anyone wants me to write something for them i honestly will just put me out of my misery


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